at least we were electrifying
by modernlifehistorian
Summary: They meet eyes across the crowded ballroom. He winks at her, whispering of their shared secret through the small gesture, and her breath catches… but for only a second, and then the mission continues. {Future!Lyatt Timeline} (TFP)
1. Chapter 1

Despite cancellation you can count on me to continue and finish all my current Lyatt fics and still keep getting new ones! I haven't given up the fight for Timeless and I hope y'all haven't either!

* * *

 _Our secret moments  
In a crowded room  
They got no idea  
About me and you  
There is an indentation  
In the shape of you  
Made your mark on me  
A golden tattoo  
All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation  
My hands are shaking from holding back from you _

_All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting  
My hands are shaking from all this..._

* * *

They meet eyes across the crowded ballroom. He winks at her, whispering of their shared secret through the small gesture, and her breath catches… but for only a second, and then the mission continues.

The past year had been everything their first three years hadn't. Looking back, it seemed so simple when all they had to do was chase Flynn and Rittenhouse across history.

Cut and dry. Easy.

Now, their target is Emma and Jessica. Two women on a mission to clear out what Rittenhouse had been and rebuild from scratch. There might be a day where they jumped in the Mothership to begin their psychotic spring cleaning of any and all past Rittenhouse. Those days called back to before 1888… before Rufus… before the mission changed. Then there were days where they went on hunts for new recruits in the present. Days where they couldn't just pinpoint the location of the Mothership and follow after. Days where they had to make the best guess where the two women would be. Days like today.

The missions were nothing like they'd used to be.

Then again… she's not much like she used to be either.

Wyatt had made her watch all those damn Bond movies more times than she'd care to count, and there were times he'd made comments under his breath about how she was a better partner than any of those slinky Bond girls, but here, on this mission, she doesn't feel much different. Smokey makeup, fake invitations, a gun strapped to her thigh. It's surreal.

But then there's the dress.

She'd told Jiya she picked it because it was simple, black, a basic camouflage against all the colorful stars Hollywood had to offer. That had been a half truth. Because the second she'd put it on, the satin against her skin had her flashing back to 1941 when the feel of silk and satin had been replaced by the feel of his rough and worn hands. And she hadn't bothered trying on anything else.

It's nothing like having to blend in to the past here. There's no worry about butterfly effects or saying one wrong word. It's a much lighter secret to carry on the string that binds them. This is their world. Their time. But the forbidden knowledge of their purpose is only shared by the two of them, and so when he catches her eye and throws her that sly wink, she knows why.

"Some company, huh?" He whispers into her ear when he appears by her side. "Ever think you'd be around people like this?" Yes, because she has. They both have. She sang for them. Poured her heart out in front of them. He knows it, she knows it, but it's like their denying that part of themselves, for who's sake she's not quite sure.

"What's with the way they drink their wine?" She whispers back. "I can't even describe it. It's so pretentious. How is it possible to tell someone how much money you have just by the way you sip Screaming Eagle?"

"Probably the fact that they're drinking Screaming Eagle," he chuckles before leaning in a little closer. Her hands quiver. "I've seen no signs of Emma yet. Or Jessica. You sure this is the place they would be?"

"It's New Year's Eve, Wyatt," she reminds him. "Your guess is as good as mine, but this was the best I could come up with. Hollywood stars, studio presidents, writers, lawyers, all people they'd want on their side." He sighs and shifts away, scanning the room once again.

"I'm gonna make another round," he tells her, his voice a little too breathy. "Watch your back, okay, Luce?" His hand brushes the skin revealed on the back of her dress before he vanishes into the sea of suits and satin. Her knuckles are white around the glass in her palm. She hates the time-stopping effect he has on her. Just using the casual nickname has her head spinning.

One year since Jessica. One year since Rufus. One year since he said those words. And one year since there had been any hint of anything beyond friendship. Best friends? Yes, she believes that's where they've found themselves again. But that's it. He's the one who whispered those words to her, yet why does it feel like she's the only one who wants to be more?

A hearty huff escapes her lips before she pushes away from the bar, making her own rounds, keeping eyes peeled for a ginger and a blonde. Because there aren't enough of those in Hollywood.

The clock ticks on throughout the night. The chandeliers get brighter with every second that the sun fades over Hollywood Hills and it's become evident to Lucy that if Emma and Jessica are wreaking any havoc tonight, it's not here. Maybe Jiya and Flynn are having better luck across the country in DC.

"Think tonight's a bust?"

Again, Wyatt appears by her side out of nowhere, close enough she can feel the heat he radiates.

"Yeah," she sighs. "If Emma were here guns surely would've gone off by now."

"Well, guess there's nothing else left to do but enjoy the party we weren't invited too," he smirks, quirking his eyebrows suggestively.

"Yeah," she scoffs, tossing an eye roll his way. "Or we could get the hell out before we get caught."

"C'mon, Luce, it's…" He glances down to check his watch. "Five minutes to midnight. We'll leave right after, okay?" Part of her knows it's probably a bad idea. There's always the chance someone catches on that they're not supposed to be here, yes, but then there's _him._ A completely different danger that she's much more vulnerable to. If their misplacement is revealed, they're both trained well enough to escape fairly unscathed, but the proximity of Wyatt's body to hers has her breath stopped and her heart pounding. She can't focus, can't think. He'd made a mark on her. It's as if the glittering gold from her dress in 1941 had been burned into her skin, leaving her with a golden tattoo that she couldn't rid herself of even when she had wanted to most.

Here, this all too romantic setting, the night glittering around them, with the New Year's hour coming in mere moments, it all fit too well. Nothing ever worked for them like that. If she takes that step forward, walking on glass, something is bound to come shatter the ground beneath her. When has it ever worked differently?

The minutes pass with the click of the clock. Wyatt finds them champagne to toast with, waving her off when she tells him how cliche it seems.

"When will you find yourself in a place like this on New Year's Eve again, Lucy?" He points out. "Gotta make the most of it." Her eyes roll, but she finds herself leaning into him just a bit, and his hand once again finds itself on the sliver of open skin on her back.

The countdown begins. 10 seconds to midnight.

"10!" The crowd chants.

His arms wraps fully around her waist, pulling her out of the way of a stranger barreling by.

"9!"

Her champagne splashes up onto her dress, but she's doesn't mind.

"8!"

He makes a joke about how clumsy she can still be despite all her combat training. They both laugh.

"7!"

His arm is still around her waist, fingers burning across her skin, setting her ablaze with the lightest touch.

"6!"

Her heart feels ready to burst. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe this is what he still wants.

"5!"

His nose brushes against her temple. She can smell the Rosé on his breath.

"4!"

He whispers her name against her hair.

"3!"

Damn him. Damn Garcia Flynn and Rittenhouse for bringing him to her. Damn Jessica for tearing them apart. Damn the universe for not bringing them together sooner. Damn everything besides him because he's all she wants, all she needs. Just one breath away and maybe he's thinking the same thing.

"2!"

She turns to face him more directly, falling into the waves of his eyes that she's surprised to find an shining with unshed tears.

"1!"

He opens his mouth, but any words catch in his throat. What is there to say?

The crowd rushes in the New Year with shouts of joy, yet they're frozen still in the midst of it all, waiting on each other, wanting for each other, wondering if they're both on the same page.

Because once either of them jumps there will be no going back. Not this time.

"You know," she hears her voice before she realizes she had begun speaking. "English and German folklore believed that whoever you first encountered in a new year, and how you encountered them, would set the tone for your whole year." _What the hell, Preston? Where did that come from?_ She wants to smack herself upside the head, but his smile tells her it's exactly what he needed to hear.

"Is that right?" He laughs softly, not neglecting to push a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Mhmm," she chuckles. "That's where the tradition of New Year's kiss came from."

"The tone of the whole year," he repeats. "That's a lot of pressure." She nods in agreement, looking down into her champagne. "But still a pretty compelling reason." Her hand fidgets with the neckline of her dress, missing the intention in his voice. "Let's make it a good one, then." Before she has time to prepare herself, her glass is taken from her hand and his lips land on hers, sealing them together for the first time in all too long.

One on her hands in trapped between their bodies, pressed up against his chest, but the other loops around his neck, pulling him as close as she can manage.

They might be making a scene, they might blow their cover, but when she opens up at the slightest trace of his tongue, any care flies into the night sky with the New Year's fireworks.

It's raw and vulnerable and everything they'd been afraid to be since the last time they were in Hollywood. He groans when she sucks on his lower lip and she whimpers when his teeth snatch her tongue. There's a taste of champagne and a thrill of fireworks between them. It whispers of new years and new beginnings. That things in the old year can stay just there, and they can begin again.

He pulls away for a slim moment before his lips seek out hers again, but only for a soft, tender kiss.

"Still want to make that drive back tonight?" He whispers breathlessly with his forehead pressed against her, their champagne glasses still clutched in his left hand. Her mind flies back to the thoughts she had when she first bought this dress. Of his hands pushing away the straps, pulling down the zippers, running across her skin beneath the satin fabric, bunching the train up around her waist with her legs wrapped around his.

A shiver ripples through her body.

"No."

* * *

 _Say my name and everything just stops  
I don't want you like a best friend  
Only bought this dress so you could take it off, take it off  
Carve your name into my bedpost  
Cause I don't want you like a best friend  
Only bought this dress so you could take it off, take it off_

* * *

Throw a review this writer's way ;) thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for the reviews and support for this first part of this fic! Far warning the middle section of this chapter is rated M, so if that's not your thing be ready to skip over a chunk. Also I forgot to mention last chapter that the lyrics are from Dress by the one and only T-Swift.

Hope y'all enjoy!

* * *

 _Say my name and everything just stops  
I don't want you like a best friend  
Only bought this dress so you could take it off  
Carve your name into my bedpost  
'Cause I don't want you like a best friend  
Only bought this dress so you could take it off  
Inescapable, I'm not even going to try  
And if I get burned, at least we were electrified  
I'm spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we're both drunk  
Everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothing about  
All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation…_

* * *

Their escape from the high society party is smooth and painless, and within a minute of her sealing the fate of their night with a two letter word, they're out in the chaotic, post New Year's haze of Hollywood. Cab horns blaring, lights flashing, people cheering. It's all too bright and loud. This is her own time period, yet somehow she still feels out of place.

Maybe it's the eternal burden they carry. Being the ones who travel through out time means they can never belong to any one time ever again.

It'd be a horrifying fate if she had to bear it alone.

But she's not alone.

Not anymore.

"Where to, Luce?" He whispers into her ear, his breath hot against her skin, one arm still twisted around her back, pulling her into him. Her head tilts down the street.

"The Mondrian Hotel is right there," she explains. "Most expensive hotel in Hollywood." His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"And you suddenly have a bottomless trust fund?" He teases, running a hand beneath her chin.

"No," she scoffs, reaching her hand up to trace along his forearm. "But we're resourceful… and stealthy." His laugh breaks through all the raging noise of the city around them as his forehead falls against hers, tugging her even closer.

"Resourceful and stealthy, huh?" He chuckles, pressing a light kiss against her parted lips. "I think we can work with that." His hands wraps around hers and pulls them down the street, running, racing (she might fall once), and never letting go.

No, she's not alone.

Never alone.

Never again.

It requires a new level of grace and confidence, finding a room in this hotel, compared to what they've had to do in so many different decades, yet it doesn't feel much different. Reassuring smiles to front desk clerks, sly hands when they pass a maid's cart, paying close attention to which rooms have been the most recently vacated. It's their well built formula, never failing them in the past and not failing them now.

The door shuts behind them with a loud click before they quickly maneuver the locks into place. They're breathless and laughing, and then they're just _there._

Two people. Alone in a hotel room. Releasing the collective breath they'd been holding since first walking through the glass doors.

No going back now.

The air between them hushes, and the weight of what could be settles in.

It's all too familiar. She half expects to find his fingers beneath her chin, guiding her to him, but it never happens. Unlike their night in 1941 when she could've melted under the heat of his gaze, here he seems cautious in his approach, if this wasn't Wyatt, she'd say timid, but it is Wyatt and it takes her a second before she realizes just what's happening.

He's waiting for her.

He doesn't feel like he has the right to be the one to cross that line. Not when he's the one who tossed their first try in the fire only hours after it had begun.

He's waiting for her to be certain.

He's waiting for her to back out.

He's waiting because he doesn't feel like he deserves this.

He's waiting, and wanting, and wondering all for her.

And if there's one thing that the last four years have taught her…

It's that she's sick of waiting.

In an encore to her best night, she jumps into his arms. Her heart aches in the moment she feels his shoulders relax because it becomes too clear that part of him believed it was never going to happen, that she would push him away, write it off as the romance of their current situation. The thought is almost laughable, that she could ever turn him away.

He catches her just like she knew he would, and she works to calm any doubt in his mind with every pass of her lips over his, but before she can coax him open, he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes clenched shut.

A sinking feeling echoes through her stomach.

"Wyatt?"

His eyes avoid hers, and she continues to sink further until words finally spill from his pursed lips.

"Lucy, do you really want to take a second shot at this? At me?" She should be taken aback by the question, but in all honesty she's surprised they hadn't run into this before the hotel.

One thing she'd known about Wyatt Logan, since the first day in that New Jersey jail cell, is that he carried every guilt he could possibly claim in the spare pockets of his broken heart. Not even his part in Jessica's death or the men he left behind in Syria could ever compare to the shame he wore from what he'd done to her, to Rufus, hell, to everyone that was supposed to be his family, his to protect. And god forbid he cut himself any slack, think that maybe some things weren't solely on him, that maybe some things _were_ fate, or that maybe nothing he could have done would have stopped it.

"Wyatt Logan, look at me," she commands, and his eyes meet hers through hooded lashes. "I know I can never to convince you to forgive yourself for the things you think you've done, and I can't heal you on my own, but, dammit, Wyatt, the more you punish yourself, question your worth, doubt my love, you only keep taking steps back, and dragging me along with you. If you'd just give yourself, give _us,_ a fighting chance then, maybe, you could start to find the redemption you've been looking for."

The ball of emotions caught in her throat pushes tears against her eyes, and she prays that she said the right thing because losing Wyatt again after coming so close, and all because of something she said, would crush her.

But Wyatt drowns her fears as his fingers find purchase beneath her chin and guide her lips back to his. For the first time all night, they kiss with the slow intention of sealing all promises to each other, calling for something permanent, something that they can build together with clean slates and still healing hearts. There's no rush in the glide of his tongue across her lips or the run of her hands down his chest, but when she catches his tongue and sucks on it gently, something snaps.

Before she can blink, he has her pressed up against a wall, his lips desperately seeking out hers, They still have so much to talk about, to work through, to get to a place where they can really be something.

But that's not for now.

Now is for the trace of his tongue along her lips, the feel of his hands down the sides of her dress, the pressure of his body against hers. Now is for them, everything physical and intimate that's kept them up for countless nights.

Her hands lock into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer while his burn down her sides, branding her as his.

It's electrifying, shocking the life back into their stagnant hearts, but this position only allows for so much exploration.

And she wants to explore, rediscover every part of him.

As if sensing her desire, he tugs her away from the wall, spinning her around in his arms and dragging them towards the bed.

She can't suppress the almost giddy laugh that escapes her lips as her back hits the mattress, and it does wonders to her cautious heart when he laughs right back. He pulls her into a sitting position, leans down over her to capture her lips with his. It's always been like this with them, easy, natural. No crippling nerves to push on the breaks, no fear of what this can mean, because she _knows._

This is it.

Her laughter is silenced the moment his lips seek out the pulse point on her neck, replacing it with a breathy gasp as a new rush of heat spikes through her. His hands blaze up her thighs, dragging the train of the magnificent black dress up right along with them until the fabric is bunched up around her hips and he's free to run the full length of her bare legs. Another gasp tears from her throat as he traces the edge of her lace panties with gentle thumbs, falling so close to where she's aching for him… when he stops just short and swallows her moans with a another searing kiss. She steels her mind from the callous run of his hands everywhere but where she wants him most and begins fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. If this is going to keep moving in the right direction, more clothes need to come off.

His dress shirt finds its way across the room as soon as she has the last button undone, and he must have understood her intentions because his hands eagerly begin to seek out the zipper amongst all the satin fabric.

"I never got the chance to tell you," he murmurs against her lips while his hands still wander. "But you make this dress look amazing, Luce." It might be silly and a little vain but the simple compliment and the depth with which he speaks it has her heart soaring.

"I thought about this…" she admits shyly. "When I first tried on this dress. I thought about being here… with you." His searching hands pause at her words.

"Oh?" He asks cheekily, wiping some hair from her eyes. "Is that so?"

"It is," she laughs in response, tilting her head up to seek his lips out only for him to pull just out of her reach. She casts him a questioning glance, her hands running across the stubble on his jaw. He leans down, his nose barely glancing across her cheek.

"Does that mean I have permission to take it off?" His husky whisper sends shivers through her overheated body, and she tilts her head so her lips brush the shell of his ear.

"Why else do you think I got it?" She whispers, letting her hands drift from his face down the cotton undershirt across his back, scratching lightly as she went. He makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan as his nose burrows into the crook of her shoulder, pressing her body further into the mattress.

"Well I'd hate to disappoint," he chuckles, nipping lightly at the skin right above her racing pulse. His kisses sink lower as his fingers drag down the zipper along the side of the dress at a tantalizingly slow pace, along the line of her collarbone to the swell of her breast, and for a moment she's grateful that she decided to nix the bra for the strapless gown, but then he has the zipper undone and he's pulling the material down her body until he's on his knees between her legs and all thoughts fly from her head.

"Beautiful," he whispers, his warm breath fanning over the skin of her stomach and she has to bite her lip to keep from groaning at his particular placement. "You're so beautiful, Lucy." The callus of his hands catch along the porcelain skin of her thighs as he pulls her towards the edge of the bed, wrapping her legs around his middle. She sits up and rests her arms atop his shoulders, lowering her mouth back down to his, but when her hands drift across his chest, it's just a reminder that he's wearing too much for her current taste.

"Off," she mumbles against his mouth, tugging at the fabric of his shirt, and he complies quickly and willingly, throwing it with the same carelessness she tossed his first layer earlier. Securing her legs around his waist, he lifts her from the edge of the mattress before pushing them both up the bed until her shoulders tumble onto the array of pillows.

He settles in between her open legs, and she can't help the breathy exhale that escapes when his still covered length presses up against her. The result of too many months apart and too many cold showers has her keening into him at the sudden feeling. She'd almost be embarrassed if his reaction wasn't equally as eager.

But then his full weight is no longer pressed against her, he shifts onto one forearm and his other hand trails across her stomach, dancing along the thin lace of her panties before finally pushing the material aside and running his thumb across the bundle of nerves between her legs. The tension has been building for so long that she's surprised she doesn't snap right there at the barest of touches, but the slow revolutions of his thumb keep her just hovering on the edge.

" _Wyatt,"_ she whimpers against his lips, desperately seeking out the button of his slacks. " _Please."_ There might have been a time where she thought herself above such a plea, but she's been aching for him, for this, for months, and she's earned the right to be a little selfish. Although she doubts he'll have much to complain about when they're through.

He pulls back just enough for their eyes to meet, his normally bright azure eyes drown out, and he slides his hand away, but not before dragging it along her inner thigh, making her shudder in anticipation.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispers with a lopsided grin, ducking down to trail a line of open mouth kisses down her body. She can't help but roll her eyes at the title he'd given her in their first moments. The one she'd secretly grown to love even if she'd never admit it.

She's sure he knows though.

But when his lips close around one of her nipples, her eyes just roll back into her head as she arches into him. His movements are quick, working only long enough to draw a moan from her parted lips before continuing downward, across her stomach, down to her hips where he pauses for a beat, and she squirms almost involuntarily in impatience.

For a man who agreed to move a little quicker, he sure seemed to be moving pretty damn slow.

"Patience," he smirks, briefly glancing up at her as his hands clamp down firmer on her hips.

"Why?" She half laugh half groans, scratching her nails along his scalp. "Haven't we waited long enough?" His fingers hook into on side of her black underwear, pulling it down just enough so he can lightly bite down on her hip bone.

"Because, Luce," he begins before running his tongue along the same spot. "As much as I love where your head's at, I still want to take my time with you. I want you to feel—" He pulls the damp fabric down her legs. "Everything." Her brief moment of vulnerability is quickly erased when she catches the new wave of hunger crashing through his eyes at the sight of her, fully exposed and ready for him.

His face drifts down so for a second he's fully between her legs, his breath brushing across her heat, his hands pressing down onto her hips to stop her from moving. He leaves a line of kisses along the inside of her thigh until she's absolutely certain she knows where this is headed. She lifts her hip in anticipation… and then he's gone, standing on the edge of the bed and stripping himself of the slacks she'd complained about moments before. And she can't resist indulging her eyes in sight of the man before her. All golden skin and hard muscles and goofy smirks and raw, hungry eyes. Her very own Adonis.

Yeah, she's going to need him inside of her. Now, preferably.

"As good as you remember?" He asks with a cocky grin. _Better,_ she thinks. _Absolutely one thousand times better._

"Just get over here, jackass," she laughs, scooting up further into the pillows, and then he's there, kissing her like she's the only thing he's sure of, pressing her down into the sheets.

"You ready?" He whispers, any arrogant pretense vanished, and she knows the question bears so much more weight than just sex. He's asking her if she's ready for this, _for them_ , for a lifetime of loving and being loved, because that's the only option left for them.

"Yes, Wyatt. God, yes," she promises, drawing his lips back down to hers. Her legs wrap around his hips and it's all he needs to hear before he's pushing into her, fitting against her, filling every part of her.

They pause for a second, right there, as close as they could possibly be. It's everything and nothing like she remembered. There only other time together had been tainted by everything that came after, but even if it hadn't been, the haze of every first that happened that night prevented a clear memory. There's no haze clouding the feeling here. Every pass of his lips across hers, every brush of his bare chest across hers, every move he makes inside of her, she feels all of it at once and locks it into the deepest part of her memory. Although she knows she doesn't have to this time… because this is the beginning. She has the rest of her life to memorize every sensation.

 _Be here, Lucy,_ she whispers to herself. _Stop thinking and just be with him._

The pace he set is intentionally slow to leave her building and building but never reaching that precipice. She drags his head up from where he'd been peppering kisses along her shoulder and kisses him earnestly, raking her nails across his back, urging him on.

A spark ignites when her mouth opens under his, and his hips begin to move with new ferocity, causing her lips to tear away from his as her head rolls back. Her ankles lock around his hips so his strokes stay short, hitting her in that spot over and over again. Stars are bursting to supernovas in the darkness of her eyes and she knows she's right there, coming closer to bursting herself. His head's fallen into the crook of her neck, biting down just hard enough to draw a cry from her throat, and then she's there, colors exploding behind the lids of her eyes as she tightens around him. His name leaves her lips as a whispered prayer as he follows her over the ledge, his weight collapsing onto her as he releases.

Even in some of her more serious relationships, she'd never been one to let the afterglow of sex last. It had always been about getting cleaned up and covered as soon as possible, but here she's happy to just bask. His body covering her, their breath mingling together, her forehead tinged with moisture, it's open and vulnerable and everything she no longer wants to hide from.

He leaves soft, slow kisses across her forehead, nudging any stray hairs away with his nose before lifting onto his forearms to look her more directly in the eye.

"'The more you doubt my love,'" he murmurs with a look of complete adoration in his gaze, but just leaving her confused.

"What?"

"What you said earlier," he clarifies with a sly grin. "You said, 'the more you doubt my _love_.' You have somethin' you wanna tell me, Luce?" A blush blooms across the pale skin of her cheeks, knowing she's been caught. It's not a secret she planned on keeping, nor one she doubts he doesn't know already, but it's more the fact that he'd caught it in the midst of her rambling earlier that has her tinged pink.

"Oh c'mon," she chuckles, glancing away. "You're taking away _my_ chance to be spontaneous with saying it for the first time." He echoes her laugh and leans down, brushing his nose lightly across hers.

"Spontaneity isn't all it's cracked up to be," he replies. "You can't honestly say that the first time I said it was all you ever hoped for."

"More than you think," she smiles, pulling his lips back onto hers.

"Well then, I guess I'll let you have your own spontaneous moment, babydoll," he laughs before rolling away from her and out of the bed. The absence of his warm body sending an unwelcome chill through her.

He returns with a damp towel in his hand and sits on the edge of the mattress next to her, leaning over to run the terry cloth along the length of her inner thighs, making sure to slow down the higher up he goes, sending a slight tremor through her body.

"You alright there, Luce?" He smirks, moving his hand just a little closer towards her. She sucks in a breath, and as if on cue, he pulls his hand away.

"Tease," she groans as her gaze follows him with an appreciative glint. He glances back over his shoulder and has the audacity to toss her a wink, knowing good and well the effect he has on her. Making no attempt to move from her blissful, sated position on the bed, she watches him haphazardly throw on a hotel robe.

"Going somewhere?"

He bounds back to where she's still spread out across the comforter, pausing to give her a once over. Usually she'd be so quick to cover herself up, but here it just makes it her feel confident, powerful, sexy to the point where she almost drags him back into bed.

"Going to get us some sustenance," he tells her, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her waiting lips. "Be right back." And before she can open her eyes, he's out the door.

After taking a few more seconds to bask in the glow of everything that just occurred, she finally rolls out of the bed and towards the bathroom.

"Nice bathtub," she murmurs to herself as she admires the six jet jacuzzi. Even though their new accommodations are far better than anything they had in the Silo, it still lacked any sort of quality bathroom facilities. At least there were separate stalls this time.

But regardless, she can't remember the last time she'd had the luxury or time for soaking in a hot bath, and she doubts it'll be too much of a hassle to convince Wyatt to join her…

 _Oh, what the hell?_

She reaches down and turns on the faucet, running her hand beneath the flow until it's almost too hot and leaves it to fill up just enough for her to be comfortably submerged in the steaming water.

A lengthy sigh falls from her lips as she settles in, the heat spiking straight through her skin to her aching muscles.

"I see someone's made herself comfortable." Months of refining her senses to be sharper would have usually had her jumping at the sudden intrusion, but his voice only works to send her deeper into serenity. Her eyes open slowly, and he's just there, crooked grin, bottle and glasses in his hand, and complete adoration in his electric eyes.

"Is that wine?" She asks as she sits up, sloshing a little bit of water onto the tile.

"Mhmm," he confirms, handing it off to her and setting the glasses on the counter. "Figured after having to watch people drink it all night, we'd indulge a little bit ourselves." She eyes the label.

"Yeah, there's no way you afford this on the shit budget they give us," she snorts, eyeing him skeptically, despite the growing smile on her lips. "So we're petty thieves now?"

"Well we've already earned that title in every other decade in American history," he points out. "Thought it'd only be fair for us to earn it in our own." She shakes her head and bites at her lip, failing to comprehend how such an incredibly dorky explanation has her falling even more for the robe-clad soldier.

"That's very logical of you," she teases.

"I thought so," he shrugs, retrieving the bottle from her hands before leaning down so his face is level with hers. "So how about I open it up, and then I join you in there." His voice is low and heavy with renewed desire. "That is," he adds. "If you feel like making some room for me." Instead of responding with words, she slowly reaches out and tugs on the knot of his robe, hoping he'll understand. His subsequent groan and hard kiss to her open mouth suggests he does.

She rest her head on top of her arms on the rim of the tub as the robe drops to the floor, eagerly taking in his glorious form. The cork shoots off across the room and some of the wine splashes into the water, but all she can think of is how damn sexy he looks. Naked wine-popping would definitely have to become a more usual occurrence.

The bottle clinks down right beside her, and he hands her the two glasses before settling across from her, more water splashing onto the floor.

"Geez, Luce," he hisses after his body is fully submerged. "Sure this is hot enough? If not I'm sure we can ask the front desk if they have any molten lava on hand."

"If only," she smirks, pouring the first glass and handing it off to him. "But this will have to do for now." Their glasses ting together over the water, echoing through the room.

They sit in silence, drinking in each other more than the alcohol, smiling like drunk idiots every time their eyes meet. Unintentional touches that seemed full of intention are exchanged, his hand running along the length of her calf, her foot dragging across his thigh. It's instinctual and organic, their need for physical connection, something they've done since the beginning, always drifting towards each other, always finding that link. But then a thought strikes her… one that shouldn't bother her as much as it does, and she tries to swallow it, let it wander into the back of her mind, do anything but ruin this moment, but—

"Do you ever think about it?" She asks, keeping her gazes on the ripples in the water. "What we were like in this timeline?" His look of confusion almost makes her regret the question.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" she sighs, trying to find the words. "You were married, Wyatt… through everything. Did we… did we actually have those moments that got us to where we are? Germany, the Alamo, Bonnie and Clyde. Did any of it happen? Or were we just a soldier and a historian? Reluctant partners shoved together for the most absurd circumstances." Her voice begins to thicken, her tendency to expect only the worse overcoming her. "Is that how everyone else sees us? And if that's the case what'll they think—"

"Hey," he cuts her off, setting his glass to the side and reaching out for her. "C'mere." He shifts her body around so she's settled against his chest, his knees bracketing her to him. Their hands lace together and he pulls them across her body, leaving her completely surrounded by him. That alone is enough to bring some ease to her heart.

"I know it's a nightmare to think about, what this timeline was actually like," he relates with a heavy sigh. "Was I actually some drunk, unfaithful husband? Were we really just partners and nothing more? Did we want to be more? Did they really know anything about us? It's a dark rabbit hole that's so easy to fall into, but you wanna know what I think, Luce?" She hums in response, anxiously awaiting his response. "I don't care. I couldn't care less who we were in this shitstorm of a timeline because whoever they were is not us. I'm the Wyatt Logan who was an absolute mess, who thought his life was a lost cause, who was ready to give it all up. You are the Lucy Preston who saved me from my darkest moments, who brought light back into my life, who gave me a purpose again. So we're the only ones who know who we really are, what our history really is. Isn't that all we need?" She falls further into his chest, tightening the arms around her. A new sensation of contentment blooms through her heart, a sensation only he could create in her.

And then all of those moments she cherishes most are flashing in front of her vision. She remembers catching his eyes for the first time in that waiting room, his breath tinged with whiskey and her eyeliner smudged beneath her eyes from a long day of lecturing. When he snapped at Agent Christopher for rushing her grief, buckling her seat belts because he already knew how badly they confused her, and then doing it again when her eyes were blurred with tears and her faced smudged with her hero's blood. When he let her see his dark past, just so she would feel safe enough to reveal hers. When she held his face between her hands and told him everything but how she couldn't bear the thought of doing this without him. Because despite their brief time together, he'd made a home for himself in her heart that was never going to be for anyone else. When he told her that the future was hers to create. When he kissed her in front of two of history's most notorious criminals. When he pulled her into his arms in the basement of America's first serial killer. When they thought it was goodbye. When he said 'possibilities.' When he saved her from her own suicide. When he'd again showed his broken heart to help her mend hers.

These moments that now belonged to only them, moments that history didn't even remember

""It is," she agrees softly, squeezing onto his hand. Her lifeline. "It's all we need."

* * *

 _Flashback when you met me  
Your buzzcut and my hair bleached  
Even in my worst times, you could see the best of me  
Flashback to my mistakes  
My rebounds, my earthquakes  
Even in my worst light, you saw the truth of me  
And I woke up just in time  
Now I wake up by your side  
My one and only, my lifeline…_

* * *

I've got one more chapter planned for this little TFP fic that's gonna draw from another killer track from Reputation so definitely keep an eye out ;) also be watching for updates for all my other fics as well (this includes Dancing in the Minefields for all the people who've asked me when I'm going to be updating that one) Feel free to drop a comment or review while you wait!

Thank you for reading!


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